


raised by wolves

by walksbyherself



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempted Rape, Character Death, Child Abuse, Dubious Consent, Implied Torture, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 11:02:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walksbyherself/pseuds/walksbyherself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, Spock tells him that in another life, James is a great hero of the Federation, that he still might be if he will only listen. That’s when James knows the old man is crazy and he laughs all the way back to his room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	raised by wolves

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Star Trek XI Kink Meme and posted on [July 27, 2009](http://st-xi-kink.livejournal.com/4104.html?thread=9777928#t9777928).

The pilot dies first and the medics are dragged away to treat the aftermath of George Kirk’s final act as captain. Ayel has a party ready to strip the shuttle of everything useful, but Nero waves them back and boards alone.

The woman is huddle between the bio bed and the wall, expression hunted and haunted. Her whole body curls forward over the bundle in her arms. Nero crouches down an arms-length away. From beneath the fall of the woman’s hair, a bright blue eye stares out at him.

“What is his name?”

The woman bares her teeth in a snarl but answers all the same. “James Tiberius Kirk.”

“A very great name,” Nero murmurs.

Something startled and almost hopeful skitters across her face before Nero snaps her neck. When he disembarks, the child cradled in the crook of his arm, only Ayel has the good grace not to look surprised. 

“Don’t let any of the others handle the body,” Nero instructs him softly. “Dispose of it yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

“You sent for me, Captain?”

Nero is watching the child sleep. “This is James Tiberius Kirk.”

Ayel maintains his composure, but only just. “Sir.”

“We’ve gone back so far that he’s a child,” Nero explains in a rare moment of patience. “Which means so is Spock. We can’t keep the one from our world from making his mistakes, but the one in this reality…We could break him forever. If we can wait until the time is right.” He looks up at Ayel. “Do you think the crew has the patience for that?”

“I think they will have the patience for whatever you ask.”

Nero laughs. “That’s what I thought.”

* * *

James does not know there is another person like him—in as much as they aren’t Romulan—until he is six. 

He peers around the doorframe at the man chained to the far wall. “What’s your name?”

The man looks up at the sound of a child’s voice. “Spock.”

James notices his pointed ears. “What are you?”

“Vulcan.” Spock is clearly confused, but asks, “What is your name?”

“James.”

“James what?” 

There is a sudden urgency in Spock’s voice that makes James frown, but he answers anyway. “James Kirk.” Spock crumples against the wall, looking older than ever. “Why does the captain have you way down here?”

“The captain does not like me very much,” he murmurs, eyes closed.

“He must like you a little or he’d have killed you already.”

Spock doesn’t have an answer for that one, so James waves goodbye and leaves. Later, he asks the captain, “Who’s the man you keep chained below decks?”

Nero turns very slowly and studies James’ face before answering. “He is a great criminal and my enemy. How did you find him?”

“By accident. He got sad when I told him my name.”

“I suppose he would.” The hair stands up on the nape of James’ neck, but Nero only smiles. “Visit him if you like. Just don’t touch him.”

* * *

Combat training starts when he is ten. Nero had tried to start sooner, but Ayel reminded him of the comparative fragility of human children and convinced him to wait. Ayel limped for a week after; James never forgot the kindness.

Today, however, all he can think of how numb his face is from continually impacting the deck. Nero tells him to move faster, but the deck is tilting and his feet keep wanting to slide out from under him. Nero throws a punch, which he dodges, and another which he does not. The captain walks off in disgust, muttering about wastes of his time.

When Nero is out of sight, Ayel helps him up. “You must understand, James. The captain is not like you or me. He has brought us all so very far and led us so well, but that is not a small thing and it weighs on him. Do you understand?”

James nods. This is the first time he realizes that Ayel loves the captain, too.

* * *

Spock tries to tell him about the Federation, about peace and races living in logical harmony. James has never seen logic; he has seen passion and violence, the burden of command and the price of submission, but never anything as clear-cut as what Spock describes. He wonders if the Vulcan is making it up.

He wonders if the Federation is made up, too.

One day, Spock tells him that in another life, James is a great hero of the Federation, that he still might be if he will only listen. That’s when James knows the old man is crazy and he laughs all the way back to his room.

* * *

When James is 14, he kills his first man.

One of the engineers has been following him for days and manages to catch him alone. He grabs James by the throat and slams him face first against a bulkhead, one hand scrabbling at the waistband of his pants. James kicks back, bringing his heel up hard between the engineer’s legs. The Romulan staggers back and James pounces, hauling on his clothes to bring him down. He kneels on the man’s shoulders and slams his face into the floor until the sharp sound of bone on metal gives way to something wetter and softer. 

He’s still sitting there, shaking, when Ayel finds him. Ayel reaches out but James’ eyes are bright and feverish and he thinks better of it. “I will get the captain.”

Only now does fear start to twist in the boy’s gut. Engineers are important, there are so few left and he killed one. The fact that Nero would have done the same if James told him what he tried to do is irrelevant. James acted alone and there will be punishment, he knows it.

When Nero arrives, James has his knees drawn up to his chest and his face hidden. A light touch on his jaw makes him look up. “You did this?” the captain wonders, tone impossible to read.

James nods, bloodied hands twisting in his lap. He waits for a blow that never comes.

Instead, Nero drags his fingers through the blood on the deck plates and paints symbols over James’ cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “You did the right thing.” He stands, holding out a hand. “Now let’s go show Spock how well you did.”

* * *

At sixteen, James gets his first tattoos: delicate lace traceries over his cheekbones, bold curves along his upper arms that twist into words like vines spiraling toward barbed prayers around his wrists. Half swooning with pain, he asks for more.

Nero smiles, presses a fingernail into one raw syllable to hear the boy scream. “In time. In time there will be much more.”

* * *

He is eighteen and Nero is tattooing fresh lines of history and prophecy along his collarbone. James can feel his captain’s breath on his skin and his fingers curl into fists at his sides.

“Is there something you want, James?” Nero leans closer, ostensibly to focus on the finer accent marks. His lips skim skin and James moans. “You must ask for things that you want,” Nero says, as if he were a child again and this were the first of many lessons. “Ask…or take them, if you think you can.”

When the needle lifts away, James twists his head to capture Nero’s mouth with his own; the angle is poor and he gets more cheek than lip, but he makes up for that with enthusiasm and teeth.

Nero forces him back down with a hand across his throat; James lunges again for a kiss, feels his air being cut off and doesn’t care. His vision blurs but the fit of Nero’s body against his own is perfect and when Nero says “Tell me what you want, James” he does, the words tripping over themselves as he speaks trying to get everything out before Nero changes his mind, but Nero’s hand tightens further and his body presses down and James comes screaming before he blacks out.

Later--sated, sore and half asleep--he nearly misses Nero picking up the needle again. His captain inks a knot of calligraphy in the hollow of his throat. 

“This says you are mine,” Nero whispers, teeth scraping roughly at his ear. “First above all others I have you and you will remember it always.”

* * *

James visits Spock less as he gets older. The old man’s sad eyes and strange ideas hold less appeal than engineering puzzles or hacking Federation communications networks. That’s how he hears about the ship.

When he says the word ‘Enterprise’ over dinner, Nero’s eyes glow with wicked light.

* * *

The captain of the Enterprise is their guest and they show him all due hospitality.

The man stares up at him with glassy eyes and whispers, “George?”

“James,” he corrects with seemingly infinite patience.

Horror crawls with agonizing slowness across the man’s expression. James smiles. “Tell me what you know and I can make the pain stop. I can set you free.”

But the man isn’t listening. “Kirk?” His voice cracks on the syllable. “James…Kirk?”

It has been a very long time since anyone used his surname. “Yes,” he says, unprepared for the wounded animal sound that comes from the man’s throat. James is still staring at him in vague puzzlement when he hears Nero’s laughter.

“Quite a shock for you, isn’t it, Christopher? And yet I’m glad I didn’t spoil the surprise.” Nero hooks one arm around James’ waist and James leans into it, natural as breathing. “James has been quite a comfort to me all these years.”

Pike tugs against his restraints, despair replaced with rage. James backhands him into silence.

* * *

Visiting Spock is a mistake, but he is still preening from his last information session with Christopher and he feels that Spock should know the good news about their next destination. James gets too close and then Spock touches his face and everything falls away.

He is gasping when Spock draws his hand away. 

“Do you—”

“Cruel,” James hisses. “That’s just cruel, showing someone all they aren’t. _Lies_.”

“They aren’t—”

“They may as well be.” The knife is sharp and slices cleanly. Nero may be angry, but James can’t bring himself to care.

When he returns to the bridge, Nero licks blood spatter from his throat. “Vulcan,” he muses. “What _have_ you been up to?”

“He…” James doesn’t have a word for what happened, so presses his fingertips to Nero’s face, trying to demonstrate.

“Ah,” Nero says. “I imagine he’s wanted to do that for some time. I’m glad it worked out so well for him.”

* * *

The Federation officers beam aboard and James heads for Spock’s ship. It’s where he would go if this were his invasion and he is not disappointed. He arrives just before the young Vulcan and throws his knife before the man even knows he’s there. James retrieves his knife and slits his throat, not having the time to watch him bleed out.

When he returns to the bridge, he thinks for a moment he should have let the Vulcan take the damn ship because even though there are two dead men in Federation uniforms, there is also Nero and his blood is everywhere.

James is running to him when one of the engineers reports that repairs to the drill have failed. They’ll never reach the core now. James squares his jaw. “Get me an open line of communication with the Enterprise.”

He stands in front of the display with burning eyes and Vulcan blood up to his wrists. He thinks he hears one of the women on the bridge start to cry. 

“This is acting Captain James T. Kirk of the Narada. You want your captain back? Then send over your doctor.”

* * *

Christopher is dumped unceremoniously onto the transport pad, along with the bodies of his rescue party. It is only fitting that the captain returns with his crew. When the doctor beams aboard, he sends a message back that yes, Captain Pike is being returned, and shuts his comm off before he can hear what happens when Christopher arrives. 

James escorts him to the bridge; he would prefer to stay, but there are repairs to be made and the exchange has bought them time they need to plan. Negotiations are an excellent way to stall.

“Watch him,” he tells Ayel. “If the captain dies, send for me. I’ll want to kill him myself.”

* * *

Ayel does send for him in the end. Nero is alive, but only just, and the doctor is watching his patient with an almost frantic level of attention. James pulls him aside.

“There isn’t anything you can do, is there?”

The doctor shakes his head with visible reluctance. “I’ve tried to make him comfortable, but…”

“It’s more than most would have done. Thank you.” 

Leaving the doctor in shock behind him, James goes to his captain. 

Nero rests his fingertips on the tattoo at James’ throat. “She’s yours. She’s always been yours. Now send me home.”

James kisses him good bye, fierce and desperate and full of everything he will not—cannot—say. The knife slams to the hilt in Nero’s heart; he twists it to be sure. “Ayel?”

“Yes, Captain?”

(It hurts a little, to hear himself called that.) “Lock our friend the doctor somewhere comfortable. We may need him later.”

He hears a strangled noise and turns with a smile. “You didn’t really think we’d let you go, did you? Think of it this way: you sacrificed yourself for your captain. It will reflect well on you, in whatever history they write. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a course to plot.”

* * *

At dusk watch, he has Ayel tattoo the captain’s glyph over his heart. When he takes his first look at the completed mark and his eyes water, he says it is from the pain and Ayel pretends to believe him.

“He is very proud of you. We all are.”

“Get some rest, Ayel.” But he means ‘thank you’ and Ayel knows it.

* * *

The crew adapts to the doctor’s presence much as they once adapted to a child’s. They tease him or ignore him as is their pleasure, but never too much of either where the captain can see. His existence becomes a natural, accepted thing.

The doctor is not taking half so well to his captivity. James does not blame him, but the thought of losing such a valuable prize does not sit well, so he pays him a visit. 

“I hear you haven’t been eating.” James leans back against the door, waiting for an answer.

“It’s a shitty way to die, but at least it’s my choice.”

“You really think I’d kill you?” James can’t keep the amusement out of his voice. “We haven’t had a licensed medic on this ship since I was a child; why would I _kill_ you?”

“Because you’re goddamn insane.”

James laughs. “You may have a point there. But even the goddamn insane need a doctor from time to time.”

* * *

He has heard the crew’s stories of courtship from long ago; he wonders if this is anything like it. 

James brings the doctor’s food, which the man eats slowly between medical questions James outlines with exacting detail. The doctor eats a little more each day and James is pleased.

The first time he tries to kiss the doctor, the other man tenses and then goes disappointingly limp; James can guess what he expects and it makes him snarl.

“You think I’ve done all this to force you now? Fool.” He strikes the man hard across the mouth and stalks out, leaving him sprawled across the deck plates. Part of him is tempted to turn the doctor over to the mercies of the crew, but that would break him entire and they do need a doctor. Also, that feels too much like spiteful action taken in defeat and James is far from defeated. 

He does not believe in no-win scenarios.

* * *

James goes back the doctor’s room two watches later; he isn’t sure what he’ll say but he is James T. Kirk, captain of the Narada. He’ll think of something.

He hears voices and stops just outside the door; Ayel is inside with the doctor.

“You must understand. The captain has been bred for this responsibility. This is the only home he has ever known and he will do what he must to preserve her. Do you understand?”

James walks away before he hears the doctor’s answer.

* * *

The explosion rips through Environmental Control and the screams of technicians echo in the hull. James is there in minutes, hauling people clear from twisted metal and grouping them for triage as best he can.

“Ayel! Get the doctor; there’s work for him here.”

When the doctor arrives, he pushes James out of the way like a reflex, only to glance back a moment later when the reality of what he did sinks in. James smiles crookedly and steps back; he takes a seat by a tech with half her face burned off and talks to her until she dies. By that point, the doctor has patched up everyone who can be saved and drugged the ones that can’t.

James instructs Ayel to transport the ones that will live to sickbay and to keep the rest as comfortable as possible. He’ll be escorting the doctor back to his quarters. The doctor hesitates, instinct telling him to stay with his patients, but he follows James in the end. Neither of them speak until they’re in the doctor’s room.

“You did good work today.”

The doctor sinks onto the edge of his bunk. “Glad it meets with your approval.”

James snorts. “Haven’t you gotten tired of it yet? Hating me for keeping you here won’t get me to release you—or kill you, if that’s what you’re after.”

“You can’t run from the Federation forever. When they catch up with you, I’m not going to be enough of a bargaining chip to keep you from blowing you to kingdom come. If you surrender—”

“Have you been practicing this?”

The doctor stammers and falls silent. James laughs. “You have! And I’ve got to admit, it was very nearly impressive. But you’re not getting out of here. Not until I say so.”

When he speaks again, the doctor’s voice is barely a whisper. “What do I have to do to get you to say so?” 

James bares his teeth. “Not what you’re thinking. When will you learn--”

Among the countless things Nero taught him are the need for patience and the draw of the forbidden. “You do seem awfully fixated on that scenario, Doctor.” He crouches down an arms-length away. “Is it because you’re afraid of it…or something else?” 

The doctor stares resolutely at the floor.

“I never asked. What’s your name?”

His eyes flicker up, startled. “McCoy. Leonard McCoy.”

“Very good to meet you, Leonard McCoy.”

James watches the pulse flutter in Leonard’s throat, the flush of skin just above his collar. _Take what you want, if you can._ The thought flashes through his mind in the moment before McCoy lunges.

James meets him halfway, pushing him onto his back and pinning his wrists beside his head. He can feel the other man’s heart hammer in panic even as he strains up for a kiss.

“Is this what you want?” He rocks his hips against McCoy’s. “But what will your precious Federation think? Will you tell them that you begged me not to, that you wanted it to stop? But we’ll know the truth, won’t we?”

He bites hard at McCoy’s throat, eliciting a moan. “We’ll know that you begged me _for_ it, that you writhed and pleaded for me. That I made you _ask_.” He goes still and silent, watching the ripple of emotions across his doctor’s face. “Ask me for what you want, Leonard.”

The doctor opens his mouth.

* * *

It’s a stupid way for it all to end.

They’ve finally blown the last of the Klingon warbirds to whatever hell they believe in, just enough power left to run life support and set a course without being entirely dead in the water, when the Federation ship arrives. It is, naturally, the Enterprise.

They offer terms, then threats, then a warning shot. James ignores all their messages while he tries to think of a way out of this mess. What he needs is a distraction. He looks up and his doctor is standing in the doorway.

A captain has to use the resources at his disposal. 

“Come with me.” He takes the doctor by the hand and leads him to the transporter bay.

McCoy stares at the pad as if he doesn’t believe it’s real. He steps onto it and turns, expression even more stunned when he sees that James isn’t coming with him.

“Go, Leonard. This is what you wanted.”

McCoy’s voice is a whisper. “But I didn’t ask.”

“No.” Against his better judgment, James steps up beside him. “This time I’m asking.” He bends his head to the hollow of the doctor’s throat, breath ghosting over fabric and the mark that lies beneath it. McCoy shudders. “If you go, it will be distraction enough and we can run. I’ll see you again.”

“You’d better.” McCoy’s face contorts, as if he can taste the treason in the words. James kisses him goodbye, then steps back.

“James, I—”

“Energize.”

* * *

They see the tattoo during the medical exam. McCoy tells them he doesn’t know what it means. They don’t ask him about any of his injuries, just take pictures and samples and hand him a chit with a date and time to meet with a counselor. 

McCoy throws it out.


End file.
